And I had always been afraid to ask why there were teeth marks on the urinal cakes. Apparantly with good reason.
The smell of the heavy smoker I sat beside at a staff Christmas party tonight has made me sick to my stomach (he made sure to go refresh about once every half hour, all night). Thanks, addict. Your addiction has sharply decreased my enjoyment of my evening.
Why didn’t you move?
Why the fuck did my laptop have to die the day before finals? With all my notes? And my husband’s is died this month, too.
Fuck and shit.
I knew someone was going to ask something like that. Trust me, I wouldn’t be ranting about it if I could have thought of a polite and not obvious way to get away from the stench. Sometimes circumstances just don’t allow a getaway.
Quick Quiz - you have a store containing a) a parents room for people who need to change/feed/etc their babies and b) a lift, so that anyone with a pram (like, with a BABY in it) can get to the floor on which this facility is. What is the most sensible arrangement of these two items?
That’s right, at OPPOSITE CORNERS of the store! Bonus points if the signs directing you in between either point you down multiple small sets of stairs, or disappear entirely at strategic points. Or, even better, BOTH!
Also:
Dear Son,
You’re tired. GO TO SLEEP ALREADY! Yeesh!
Signed,
Your loving mum.
Mellivora capensis, you numbskulled mustilid, consider yourself pitted. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times, always check the start date of a thread.
Fucking zombie threads.
//grumble grumble//
Apologies for the double post, but bloody hell, I read that three times before I realised you were talking about your husband’s computer.
I think I need coffee.
Oh - I understand. But every single day? Even on those days when he has 4 tickets and spends the rest of his time re-arranging stuff in his shop? (He’s in tech support.) And then goes outside and wanders around downtown for a bit because the weather’s nice and nobody needs him? THAT is what gets on my nerves.
Dear idiot who runs the garbage truck for our neighborhood.
Our recycling service does not take cardboard. Just newspapers, magazines, glass and cans. Therefore, if on trash day I put a large, empty flattened cardboard box next to the garbage bin, that means I want you to take it!.
Please do not ignore the empty box, or worse (as you did last week) stuff it into the recycling bin. The recycling truck won’t take it, and the driver will leave a nasty note telling me that there’s nonrecylable materials in the bin.
I’m pissed that the surgeries on my wrist were unsuccessful.
I hate the fact that I lost my job shortly before Christmas. Mostly what bothers me is that I have never been without a job since I was 12, and I’m going mentally nuts. I’m like a druggie going through withdrawls (get me a whitecoat and padded room please!).
And at the same time, I am enjoying being domesticated - cleaning, cooking, being home when the family is home… grrrr (even more reason for the padded room).
I really fuckin hate the piece of crapshit refurbished insurance cellphone that doesnt work correctly. :mad:
I missed my doctor’s appointment yesterday. I’ve been having problems with anxiety for the past month, and she can’t see me until late January.
I miss my ex-boyfriend. He’s also one of my best friends, and he’s not doing so hot at college. 
It’s worrying, and I hate seeing him distressed.
My other best friend is turning out to be a useless, fuckup, drain on society, and I don’t know what to do or how to feel about it. She feels fine about it. Revels in it, even.
My dad’s cheating on my mom, and I don’t think she cares enough about herself to care. Asshole could be a little less obvious about it, though.
I can’t find any fucking empty cookie tins in town, and I don’t want to pay seven bucks for one form Walmart full of shitty moldy peanut brittle. Likewise, I don’t want to order a two dollar tin online and pay five bucks for shipping.
Someone, just SELL EMPTY TINS, god damn you. :mad:
There’s no fucking craft store in town anymore, and Walmart did away with their craft department for the most part. God help anyone in town who isn’t a knitter with low standards or throwing a birthday party for five year olds.
I cannot fucking wait for this year to be fucking over. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
And my smoothie came out all shitty! Argh.
I see a shitload of them in the thrift stores. You might try there.
From what I’ve been hearing about Canada’s new recording piracy type of legislation, it’s going to be completely draconian - not even allowing people to upload their own, purchased cds to their iPod, for example. Shit, this probably isn’t a mini-rant - I might need to start a whole thread on it.
ETA: I think I’ve seen empty tins sold in dollar stores, too.
Can’t help you with the rest, but last time I had trouble finding cookie tins, I used cellophane bags to wrap cookie gifts - got 'em at Hobby Lobby really cheap. Maybe that’ll help.
I totally sympathize. The only advice I have is practice. And possibly drugs (Paxil fixed it so I no longer had the flop-sweats for things like that. I still had the mental block, but, well… practice.)
I pit the asshole on the bus that was insisting that firefighters are crooks and overpaid and… YEAH. Just shut the FUCK up before I reach across the aisle and hit you. I didn’t ask him why he thought that way, but about when he said that the firefighters running into WTC weren’t saving lives but just being suicidal I was hoping he would die. Preferably in a fire.
Also, Lauchcast? When I go to a fan station that means I want to hear THAT band. Or at least bands similar. Not ever other band in the world. (no really, why the hell is Godsmack and Limp Bizkit being played on a station devoted to fans of a renfaire band?)
Also, also, coworker of mine? When you want a label for ‘every location’ you have to write or otherwise give me the city and phone number for every location.
It’s a mini-mini rant, but two coldsores?! Are you kidding me, body? Is one heinous big coldsore not enough, you have to bless me with two of the fuckers! Aaaargh! And owwww!
For the first time in seven years of cell phone ownership (and in the first rental car I have been in in three years, and really, the only opportunity I’ve ever had to leave my cell phone in another city) I fucking left my fucking cell phone in the fucking rental car in the other part of the motherfucking province.
(Maybe that last part was a little harsh. I love this province.)
So the lovely good-hearted woman who rented us the car went well beyond the call of duty and miles out of her way to get my cell phone couriered back to me. (See why I love this province? So much small-town goodness.)
Which is great because there are a couple of phone numbers I really, really, really need that exist only on that phone. Like, you know, my boyfriend, and the lady who was looking after my dog. And since I only use my cell phone I really couldn’t even guess what the numbers are since I have never actually dialed them myself. (I know, I know, I should have a backup phone list. But I’ve owned a phone for SEVEN FUCKING YEARS and never lost it yet! I know, I know …)
But it’s still not fucking here! And there’s nothing I can do but sit on my arse and wait! It’s not like I can call that lovely woman from the car rental place and say “where the fuck is my fucking cell phone, bitch?!”
And I don’t have internet at home OR a land line so it’s my only contact with the outside world, outside of work.
And I want to take a few days off work but I can’t because then I’ll be absolutely without contact at all … actually that wouldn’t be a bad thing necessarily, but I fear it would delay my reunion with my cell phone …
fuck!
Okay, I’m only going to say this once.
You’re in your 50s.
Your children are grown.
Your co-workers are between the ages of 23 and Mesozoic.
can you please stop talking about Santa like you believe in him?
“What do you want Santa to bring you this year?”
“What did you get from Santa last year?”
“Don’t forget cookes for Santa!”
**SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. **
I KNOW. I went to Wal-mart the day before Thanksgiving because I desperately needed three skeins of embroidery floss to finish up a project. I walked through the whole craft department twice before I realized they stopped carrying embroidery supplies. I had to drive all the way across town to get three 50 cent loops of thread. :mad:
Fuck Walmart and fuck the knitting craze. You’re getting in the way of my stitchery!